lay it down
by quorra laraex
Summary: Sometimes, he breaks her heart. And most times, she mends it on her own. — Soul/Maka, except not really


**lay it down**

(_it's time_)

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Maka never really knows what to expect from Soul, other than the fact he's a mess—evident from his room, and that he's pretty damn irresponsible—obvious from his schoolwork. He's failing. He has this stubborn attitude that irritates her to shreds, especially when she prods him to do his work. She even offers help, encourages him, supports him. She _tries_. And despite everything, she doesn't cut it.

/

She isn't sure when Soul started smoking. Nor does she know when he started keeping secrets from her.

They fought about it one night, after her finding of an empty box of cigarettes under a pile of jeans on his floor. Being the anal partner she was, she had been cleaning up his haystack of a mess for him while he had gone to the bar with Black Star. He had come back home seemingly already pissed off with a strong smell of alcohol blown from his mouth. She had planned on keeping quiet, at least, for the rest of the night.

But he had started it.

"What're you doing in my room?" his eyes glared daggers on her innocently dilated green orbs. His tone was wrapped in venom, and she was taken aback. He never spoke to her like that before.

Relocating her pride, she shot back as she straightened her posture and flicked the Marlboro box in his direction. "When did you start smoking?"

He was still a bit drunk, but sober enough to catch it and keep his eyes hard on hers at the same time. "It's none of your goddamn business."

She could have sworn that was the exact moment her heart had taken a plummet to cold, thick cement. "Yes, it _is_ because we're partners and this is _my_ apartment, too and I can't tolerate cigarettes in _my_ apartment and you _know_ my grandmother died of lung cancer."

"Yeah, well, have you forgotten the fact that this is _my_ room which _you're_ invading? This is the only place I have for myself, so go complain about some particular shit elsewhere and get out."

As if something got stuck in her throat, she became completely still, almost statuesque with burning eyes and tense fists. And before he could repeat his last pair of words, she's out in a flash, pushing past him in the process.

That night had been the first time she's cried because of him since four years ago, when she was thirteen and he would make fun of her physique. This night was different.

Because during the night, when she's still hurt and is naively allowing her emotions get the better of her under the blankets as she cries, her face buried in the pillow, he does not knock on her door. She doesn't hear his awkward grumbles of '_damn, that was so uncool_'. She won't open the door after wiping at her eyes multiple times with her sleeve and still pray that he won't notice how red the rim of her orbs have gotten through the dimness of her room, and finding him with his hand at the back of his neck and eyes focused elsewhere in embarrassment. He won't muffle out a fast '_sorry_' and quickly head in the direction of his room after meeting her pale, apple-cider eyes because he's still just a mere pubescent thirteen year old boy.

He doesn't do anything that night and Maka silently cries under her sheets, wondering when things changed, until sleep is able to kidnap her.

They never talk about it because as confident and dignified as she is, she doesn't have the courage to face the glare he had given her that night, even when it was the alcohol that had consumed him. There was just something about those orbs that shot her mind down, controlling the way her spine tingled and making her feel sick to her stomach. It was as if he had been staring straight into Medusa; unforgiving.

/

He starts bringing girls over.

Two weeks after their fight, Maka walks into their apartment—groceries in hand, smile plastered on her face—only to find a voluptuous brunette in a pearl white short and tight dress giggling on her couch. The blonde doesn't hesitate to slam the door shut as she props the paper bag of vegetables on the table beside her clinking keys. Her partner's head pops up from the couch, underneath the little slut he's brought over.

"Oh, hey, Maka," he brims out nonchalantly, lazy smile, his hands on her feminine hips.

She doesn't say a word as she stocks to her room, avoiding his gaze.

"_What's her problem_?" she hears the girl whisper before she opens the door.

"_I don't know_," his voice murmurs before teasing her as she giggles at his touch.

Maka doesn't know how to keep her throat from feeling tight and her eyes from blurring into wetness. She covers her mouth with the palms of her hand to keep them from hearing the loud sob that escapes. At least she can prevent something.

A few days later of constant ignorance between the duo, Maka finally learns that the girls' name is Bethany. But she realizes it isn't important because the first time she hears it is when she overhears Soul on the phone talking about how clingy the girl had been, and that he '_wanted out_'. And so, he brings over a new chick, one with piercings that rim the shell of her ear and a leather jacket similar to his. She has long hair and big lips, and Maka immediately dislikes her.

She dislikes every girl he becomes intimate with.

In fact, she doesn't even bother trying to learn their names, only referring to them by number. All twenty-eight of them.

/

Nowadays she eats dinner in silence, since there is no one to conversate with. While her weapon—her _partner_ is out there getting laid and fucking around (_literally_), and Blair is out doing the exact same thing for _money_—but that's beside the point since Blair was rarely with them anyways—she'll sit at the table alone, twirling her fork in the spaghetti she made for two, wondering what she did wrong that broke them.

/

Their old professor Stein introduces the duo to his new class of weaponry and technicians as his former students, who have successfully passed Shibusen. They are to perform Soul Resonance in front of the minor students, but when Soul transforms midair and lands properly into the soles of her hand, she drops him at the touch. When she recognizes what had just happened, she crouches low, clutching her stomach and excusing herself because she 'thinks she has food poisoning'.

She ignores Stein's knowing look as well Soul's oblivion.

/

On the twelfth of February, as Maka looks for the physics textbook Soul had borrowed from her the day before, she comes across a small, velvet box in the corner of his desk drawer. She forgets to breathe when she stares at it.

She knew number thirty-one was getting serious. But she didn't know it would happen this soon.

After she finds her schoolbook and exits his bedroom, she finds him entering their home in a stretch, acknowledging her with a quick _hey_. He walks toward his bedroom as she trails to her own.

"It's gorgeous, by the way," she murmurs when he's behind her, turning his knob. She opens her door as Soul stares at the back of her head, blonde locks dripping from her shoulders. "She'll love it."

/

Maka calls her mom that night, when the sky is black and their apartment is quiet.

It's four in the morning when she makes the decision.

"What are you doing?" He asks when she comes into view. Maka's wrapped in a red scarf and her cream pea coat. She's holding two suitcases and a backpack slung over her shoulders.

"Moving out," her answer is simple and clear. Perhaps her attempt at being nonchalant is working. It always had, anyway.

He looks at her in disbelief, feet away from her and he's frozen still. "I'm not letting you leave without an explanation."

She ignores him, attempting to walk past his idle figure, before his arm transforms to the shiny slithered crimson scythe halting her. She reads the panic in his eyes. He's unable to feel her mentality, her train of thought. He can't feel her wavelength connected to him.

"Why can't I—I f-feel—our wa—?"

She places the luggage on the ground in front of the door before silently removing her mittens and shows him the palms of her hands—battered brown cuts, blistered and discolored, _burned_.

"Maka," she hears him say her name one last time as his eyes wander from the damage he's done to the way her eyes glimmer in their living room's lamp. She smiles, barely, picks up her luggage after gently soothing her gloves back on, and strolls out into the snow.

_Leave before you are left_.

"I'll be fine," she wisps into the air a little too quietly, but she knows he heard her.

And she will be.

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**note:** if her mother was okay, she'll be okay. like mother, like daughter. took a different approach on this fic. started it like a year ago but never got around to finish it, haha. then i watched an ep of soul eater on adultswim and i kinda just had to do this.  
i've got more fics of them in stock, hopefully inspiration sticks around long enough for me to finish them! i've still gotta update _The Wedding Date_.  
**note2:** i may do a sequel for this. mainly because i'm not too satisfied with my ending. all depends if i'm motivated. please review and tell me your thoughts!


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